


could get it going (like one, two, freeze)

by earnmysong



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Ice Skating AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They have their own handshake, reserved for pre-competition only, something only the two of them can figure out. </i> // Also known as the ice skating/<i>Cutting Edge</i> AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	could get it going (like one, two, freeze)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Arrow_ is property of parties other than myself. The Olympics have eaten my brain and I am awash in nostalgia.

\----

Felicity Smoak has been skating since she was three. 

(There’s no way her memory goes that far back -- it’s good, but would have to pretty much be prodigy-level to pull off detailed recall prior to preschool. The thing is: she never had to tell herself to keep her arms crossed over her chest to increase the speed of her revolutions, dig her toe-pick into the ice with different amounts of force to stop herself quickly or slowly, falling a million times as she learned to coax her body into defying the laws of gravity for three seconds at a time. By the time she was fully aware of what she was doing, she was working on her double axel.)

This is going to be her first year in pairs because, to quote her coach, “You’re needing a change, darling. You’re losing your spark. It’s still there, just very faint.” He’s Russian, so she could chalk his little brainstorm up to the language barrier, but this particular message is coming through loud and clear, and would be even if words weren’t involved. 

“Last time I checked I wasn’t Tinkerbell, Yuri,” she bites out through gritted teeth. “I’ll give the guy two weeks.” She glides to the middle of the ice, lacing her hands together above her head as she spins. Coming out of it, she plants her toe-pick hard enough to send chips of the surface beneath her skates spraying out in an arc around her, eyes flashing as she glares at the graying man in front of her. “That’s it.”

\----

She’s given strict orders to pick up the hottie with a body (she’s neither met this man before nor is a fan of this situation; she reads the tabloids and has eyes, though) at his hotel the next morning, give him the grand tour of her life or whatever. 

In an effort to fight the power as much as her normally ‘straight and narrow’ nature will allow, she goes directly to the rink instead.

“Felicity Smoak?” a deep voice questions as soon as she’s crossed the threshold, an unknown hand hovering above her elbow, a smile playing across features she doesn’t quite know. She jumps in spite of the man’s warm tone, arms crossing over her chest defensively before she finally nods. “ I’m Oliver Queen.” He extends his hand to her and she shakes it, a lightning-fast up and down motion.

“I hope it’s alright that I just showed up here,” he says conversationally, Felicity leading the way to the locker rooms. “I have a tendency to be unforgivably late, especially when it’s important.” He trails off, waits for her to respond to this information, maybe even make fun of him. She doesn’t so much as turn her head toward him, so he continues, “I figured I’d better start this off the right way, so I was here at four-fifteen. Yuri said you get going at five.”

“Yep.” She points at a door on his right. “This is you. See you out there.”

“Sure,” he calls to the stiff line of her retreating spine. “ Really looking forward to working with you.”

\----

They’re a week into their partnership (and Felicity’s unspoken two-week ultimatum), haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other (despite Oliver’s repeated efforts to get her to open up) when it happens. 

The landing on her triple toe-triple lutz combination is off and she knows it’s going to be before it even happens. She braces for the bite of ice against skin, the wrench of muscles going in directions they shouldn’t. Her ankle screams in protest as most of her weight lands on it, but the sensation only lasts for a second because a solid wall of person is suddenly stopping her from spinning completely out of control.

“You okay?” Oliver sets her back on her feet gently, touches her hair for a second before he remembers he’s supposed to keep his distance, stay on his side of an imaginary line.

“Yeah,” she breathes. She can feel him watching her as she cautiously rotates her ankle in circles, testing the extent of the damage. “Thanks.”

He gives her a _no problem_ wave of his hand. “We calling it a day?”

“That’s a great idea.”

\----

She’s not expecting him to be waiting on the benches that surround the rink when she’s finished changing, but he is. 

“Thought you might need some help getting to your car.” He slings her bag over his shoulder behind his own, holds the door open so they can make their way out to the parking lot.

\----

That’s all it takes for their world to start to shift.

They have their own handshake, reserved for pre-competition only, something only the two of them can figure out. People who witness it can only stare in wonder and confusion at the complicated series of movements.

They get to the point where they’re finishing each other’s sentences in interviews, laughing the entire time. 

(When it’s announced that they’re favored to crush the competition at Nationals six months later, Felicity calls Yuri. She’s excited to the point where he can barely understand her, and he can only smile.)


End file.
